“You’ll be here in the morning, right?” he asks, voice soft in the dark of the room. I nod, knowing he can still see me, backlit from the hallway light. Desmond had said I should stay here tonight, as it would be a little late to walk back tocampus. I’d floated the idea of an Uber, but he’d shaken his head and said it was unnecessary.
“I’ll be here,” I confirm, smiling. I’ll be exhausted after spending the night reading on the couch, but that’s not what’s important. I hear him sigh in relief.
“Okay. Night.”
Closing the door gently behind me, I head back to the living room, turning off lights as I go and ignoring the siren’s call of Desmond’s bed. It was a call I hadn’t been hearing until Parker brought it up, but now I have a feeling it’ll be hard for me to think of anything else. I desperately want to shove my face in his pillow and inhale. Add my own scent on top, so that even after I go home tomorrow, he’ll have a reminder that I was there. Sometimes, it’s a curse, not a blessing, to have a good imagination.
Grabbing my book, I sit down on the couch. The room is lit by the warm light of a single lamp, sitting on a side table next to my armrest. This won’t be the first night I’ve spent awake, hungrily devouring the book I’m reading long past the time I should have gone to bed. And at least I’m not alone, this time, with Parker in his room and Desmond arriving shortly.
I relax back into the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me and looking around the room. The apartment isn’t anything special—plain white walls, floors meant to look like hardwood but are probably laminate, and appliances that haven’t been updated in this decade. There are shoes left in a haphazard pile next to the front door, smudges on the windows and glass entertainment center; a sloppy stack of paper pushed to the side of the dining room table, and a junk drawer that is jammed closed with the amount of random detritus in there.
It’s not perfect, but even someone like me can recognize a home when they see one; can feel the safety and love that live here, along with the chaos. Walking through the door is like a magical balm for the soul—I feel more relaxed, less anxious. I feel like I’m wanted. Not even my brain has managed to convince me that Desmond doesn’t actually want me here, and that he’s just being nice. Iknow—the same way I know I’m a redhead with crippling anxiety—that he likes me; likes spending time with me.
My phone chimes with a text message, drawing me out of my thoughts and reminding me that I need to put it on vibrate, just in case the noise disrupts Parker.
Desmond
You okay, Jack?
Jack
Yeah! Sorry again, I know you’re busy with the team.
Parker was just really sad. I felt bad. He missed you.
Desmond
He was fine when Anthony had him one night, but it wasn’t as late as this. I didn’t think he’d care that I was gone, to be honest.
Jack
He also asked me to pull up the livestream so he could check on you.
Desmond
Wow. Well, that’s nice to hear.
Does make me feel a bit shit, though.
Jack
Yeah. Sorry.
Desmond
Thanks again for babysitting.
Jack
It’s been fun! I love being here.
I groan softly the moment I click the little arrow and send the message. Is it really too much to ask that I have one single human interaction where I don’t humiliate myself? Sighing, I start typing a message that might undo the creepiness of the previous one. He’s going to regret leaving me in charge of his kid, I just know it.
Desmond
Good, because we love it when you’re there.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I stop typing. He means it the same way Nate means it when he says he loves hanging out with me. He means it in the amorphous, all-encompassing way people talk about “loving” things. I know this. But I also know that if I had my way, he’d love me for real. There is nothing or nobody in the world quite as pathetic as me, I realize sadly, looking down at that message and rereading it a couple times.
